


Small World

by Emospritelet



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fingerfucking, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Sex Positions, One Night Stand, Or Is It?, Oral Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 12:02:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15315087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emospritelet/pseuds/Emospritelet
Summary: Lacey is stuck in Seattle for a few days, and seeks shelter from the rain in Roni's bar, where she develops an unexpected attraction to a local detective.  Shameless Woven Lace smut :)





	Small World

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Love And Trust](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13495242) by [Emospritelet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emospritelet/pseuds/Emospritelet). 



Lacey French reflected that, while there were undoubtedly worse things she could be doing on a Thursday evening in early October, running along a Seattle street with the rain lashing her bare legs and her jacket over her head ranked pretty low on her list of favourite activities.  If it had been up to her, she would be in Florida, or Hawaii, or back in Australia. Hell, even bloody  _Maine_ would have been better. At least then she could have gone to _The Rabbit Hole_ to shoot some pool with her friends. Unfortunately, she was stuck in Seattle for four days until she could get the bus out, and so here she was, soaking wet and freezing cold, eyes casting about for somewhere to wait out the rain that never seemed to end in this damn city.

She spied a bar through the sheet of rain, neon sign sending out a welcoming glow, and she squinted, raindrops running into her eyes and making them sting.   _Roni’s, huh?  Better than nothing.  At least I’ll be dry. Plus, booze, so a win-win._

She hurried over just as a couple left the bar, and slipped inside, shaking the rain from her hair as best she could and shivering as she peeled off the sodden jacket.  The bar felt wonderfully warm, and for a moment she just stood there, letting the rainwater run down her legs as she caught her breath. Water was trickling into her shoes beneath the soles of her bare feet, and the sensation was unpleasant, but she wasn’t about to take them off and walk around barefoot.  The place looked clean enough, but she’d been in enough bars to know that even by this time in the evening, the floor would be sticky.

There were tables dotted around, most of which were occupied by couples or groups of friends talking, laughing and clinking glasses.  The lighting was warm and soft, apart from the bright lights behind the spirit bottles and shining on the shelves of glasses. The bar itself was presided over by a woman in her late thirties with artfully curled black hair, dark eyes and full, red lips.  She served drinks with practised efficiency and a wide smile, and Lacey stalked over and slipped onto a stool next to a man in a brown leather jacket, who was standing by the stool and leaning on the bar on his elbows. He drained the whisky in his glass and held it up.

“Another please, Roni,” he called to the bartender.

Lacey’s ears pricked up at the sound of his accent.  Scottish, she thought, perhaps softer than she had heard before.  She wondered if that was due to him living here for some time, or whether he was just visiting, like her.

“Well, you’re not from around here,” she observed.

The man turned to face her, one eyebrow raising, a white shirt beneath the jacket and blue jeans above heavy boots.  He seemed to blink in surprise when he saw her, but recovered quickly. She thought he was perhaps twice her age, which would put him in his early fifties.  Soft, light brown hair that looked as though he was growing it, silver streaks at his temples. His face was angular, with high cheekbones and a slightly long nose.  Dark brown eyes raked over her briefly, and she shivered as they seemed to bore through to her soul. It felt as though with that one look, he knew her height, weight, shoe size, and every improper thought she had ever had.  The tip of his tongue slipped out to wet his lips, and he inclined his head.

“I could say the same about you,” he said.  “What brings you to Seattle?”

“Oh, I’m just passing through,” she said carelessly.  “Thought I’d check out the local nightlife.”

The man made a small noise of amusement as the bartender - Roni - set another glass of whisky in front of him.

“And you came here?” he remarked.  “Setting the bar a little low.”

“Hey!” said Roni, affronted.

He sent her a grin, and she huffed and stomped off to serve someone.  The man took another drink, watching Lacey over the rim of his glass.

“You meeting someone here?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“Wanted to get out of the rain,” she said.  “This was the first place I saw. Drinking alone’s not an issue, believe me.”

“Well, maybe if I buy you a drink, it doesn’t have to be an issue for either one of us,” he said.

She pursed her lips, looking him up and down as insolently as he had studied her.  Definitely not her usual type, but given that her usual type was ‘good-looking dumbass loser’ that was probably just as well.  Besides, she had to admit that she was intrigued.  There was something about the guy, something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. A seething energy, a dark rawness to him that made her heart thump.  He was still watching her, and the look in his eyes made her squeeze her thighs together.

“Okay,” she said.  “I’ll have what you’re having.”

He leaned over the bar, raising an arm to attract Roni’s attention, and Lacey spied a badge at his waist, covering the pouch where a pair of cuffs sat.   _So.  A cop._

“Another whisky please, Roni,” he called, and turned back.

Lacey raised an eyebrow, gesturing to his belt.

“You’re a cop,” she said.  “Gonna card me, officer?”

“Detective,” he said with a tiny smirk, his eyes glinting.  “And you look old enough to me.”

“Got my I.D., anyway.”

“Let’s see it then,” said Roni flatly.

Lacey sighed and dug in her purse, retrieving her I.D.  Roni took the card and looked it over before handing it back and placing a glass of whisky on the bar.  She eyed the detective.

“Play nice,” she said evenly, and he showed his teeth.

Roni wandered off to serve someone else, and Lacey took a sip of her whisky.  It tasted of honey and sea air and a hint of smoke, and traced a line of fire down her throat to warm her from within.  She took another, larger sip, coughing a little. The detective was still watching her, long fingers curled around his glass, a number of thick silver rings on them.  No wedding band, though. She noticed that. He sipped at his whisky, his hair glinting gold and silver in the light, and set down his glass.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Lacey.”  She took another drink.  “What about you? Detective what?”

“Weaver.”

“Got a first name?”

He smirked a little.

“Not in this place.”

Lacey chuckled, and raised her glass.

“Well, Detective Weaver,” she said.  “Here’s to not drinking alone.”

He clinked his glass against hers, and she noticed that he wore a bracelet, a thick chain of silver links.  There was another around his neck, just visible where his shirt was unbuttoned, gleaming against smooth, tanned skin.  She found herself wondering what he looked like underneath the shirt, and licked her lips, surprised at the visceral strength of her attraction.  He was watching her with those dark eyes, as though he could read her mind. She wondered what he thought of her, and shifted on the stool, her legs parting a little in the short black dress.  His eyes flicked to her pale thighs and ran down the length of her legs, and she wanted to grin. Perhaps the evening wouldn’t be a total wash-out. So to speak.

“You said you were passing through,” he said.  “Where are you headed?”

“Home,” she said.  “I’m only here for a couple of days.”

“And home is Australia?”

“Was,” she said gloomily.  “We moved over here when my grandma got sick.  Maine, of all places. No nightlife to speak of.”

“Maine?”  He pulled a face.  “About as far from here as you can get.”

“Not far enough,” she grumbled, and he chuckled.

“Well, I’ll try to keep you entertained, but I’m told my social skills are somewhat lacking,” he said dryly.

“Your taste in whisky’s okay.”

He grinned at that, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Another?”

Lacey drained her glass, placing it on the bar next to his, and he turned to catch Roni’s eye.  She held up the whisky bottle, glancing curiously between them as he nodded, but said nothing as she poured them each a measure. Lacey watched her wander off again, dark curls bouncing.

“She looks like she doesn’t trust me,” she remarked, and Weaver made a low sound of amusement.

“I think it’s me she doesn’t trust,” he said.

“Really?”  She put her elbow on the bar, leaning closer.  “Are you a bad man, Detective?”

He winked at her.

“Given the right circumstances.”

“And what might those be?”

“Well, usually it involves someone with a death wish resisting arrest.”

Lacey giggled.

“You know, you _can_ use those cuffs for more enjoyable activities,” she teased.

“Oh, I’m well aware of that.”

His voice was low, almost a growl, and it made her shiver deliciously.  She locked eyes with him as he sipped his whisky, a gleam of gold shining in their depths, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.  A stray droplet of pale amber beaded on his lower lip, and he licked it off, setting the glass back on the bar. Lacey could feel her breath quicken, and told herself to cool the fuck down.  The guy was probably seeing someone.

“So, what’s it like, detective-ing?” she asked.  “Detecting. Police work. How is it?”

Weaver gave her a somewhat rueful grin.

“Has its moments of extreme satisfaction in amongst the bureaucracy, corruption and fucking incompetence of everyone around you, I suppose.”

“You beat up any bad guys?” she asked teasingly.

His grin widened.

“I have my moments.”

“I bet you do.”

His eyes gleamed at her, and she felt a shiver of pleasure go through her.  She was enjoying the flirting, a way to unwind and have fun on what had been, up until that point, a disappointing day.  WIth any luck he would want to stick around for another drink or two. With even more luck, he might want to kiss her. She watched as he took a drink, whisky glistening on his lower lip again before the tip of his tongue swept across it.  His lips looked soft, the stubble on his cheeks and chin just starting to show through, and she wondered how he would smell if she leaned in a little closer. She told herself to stop being such a horndog. There would be time for that later, if he was up for it.

It had been some time since she’d felt anything more than vague appreciation for a pretty face and a good body.  The guys she had ended up with were only ever one-nighters, and she had spent too many early mornings doing the walk of shame, cursing the alcohol and her lowered inhibitions for letting her make yet another disappointing mistake.  The thought of sleeping with an older guy, an experienced guy, was exciting, and made her clench her thighs together on the barstool. Weaver was watching her out of the corner of his eye, a tiny smile on his face, and she wondered if he could tell what she was thinking.  She turned to him, parting her knees a little more, and his eyes flicked over her thighs before meeting her gaze.

“You spend a lot of time drinking alone, then?” she asked.

“Probably more than I should,” he admitted, with a weary tilt of his brows.

“No one to go home to?”

“Oh, not for a long time,” he said, and picked up his glass again.  “You?”

She wrinkled her nose.

“Guys suck.  No offence.”

“None taken,” he said dryly.  “I’m well aware we’re a lost cause, in general.”

“Maybe I’m being unfair,” she amended.  “Maybe it’s just the ones I tend to hook up with.  Big, lumbering oafs with pretty faces and tiny brains.  They’re kind of like bad Chinese food.”

Weaver’s brow crinkled.

“You’ll have to explain that analogy, I think.”

Lacey took a slurp of her drink and leaned in.

“Okay, so let’s say you’re bloody starving and feel like you haven’t eaten in days,” she said.  “So you order from that Chinese place that you swore to yourself you’d never go to again because the food was shit on the last three occasions you had it.  But you’re kinda drunk so you think it’s a _great_ idea to get more.  So you drag your ass down to pick up the food and you _think_ it looks great because you’re so damn hungry, but when you get it home it’s kind of tasteless and unsatisfying and you wish you’d just cooked your own bloody food instead.  You know?”

Weaver pulled a face, looking amused.

“That’s - very specific.”

“Yeah.”  She pouted, picking up her drink.  “I have to swear off bad Chinese food.”

“Wise choice.”

There was silence for a moment, and he took another drink.  She watched him over the rim of her glass as his fingers flexed, silver rings glinting.  He glanced at her, licking whisky from his lower lip with a flick of his tongue, and she made a decision, her heart thumping with anticipation as she set down her glass.

“You got a place around here?” she asked, and he nodded.

“Apartment one block down.”

“Wanna take me there?”

A blink was the only indication that she had surprised him.

“Excuse me?”

“Your place,” she said patiently.  “You look like the kind of guy who likes a good, hard fuck and knows how to give a girl a good time.  Which this girl could really use right now.”

Weaver glanced away, a twisted little smile pulling the corner of his mouth upwards.

“I doubt I’m your type,” he said dryly.

“Am I yours?”

“Let’s see…”

He seemed to be pretending to think about it, lips pursed as he looked her over.

“Brown hair, beautiful blue eyes, an accent you wouldn’t soon forget…”  He inclined his head. “A case could be made.”

“So, how about it?” she persisted.

“I’m still trying to process the question.”

“Huh.”  Lacey waggled her eyebrows, grinning.  “You’re not gonna tell me I shocked the big, bad detective, right?”

Weaver took another drink, raising his eyebrows with a tiny, secretive smile.

“Believe it or not, this is only the second most unexpected proposition I’ve ever received,” he said, in a dry tone.

Lacey pursed her lips, leaning forward.

“Well, now I want to know about the first,” she teased, and he gave her a long look, the corner of his mouth pulling upwards again.

“There’s not enough whisky in this bar, trust me.”

Lacey pouted.

“You’re no fun.”

His twisted smile grew.

“I’ll remind you you said that later.”

“Hm.”  She raised her chin.  “Confident. I like it.”

Weaver’s eyes glinted.

“I should probably warn you that it’s been a while,” he said, and she raised a brow.

“You’re not telling me you’ve forgotten how?” she teased.  “Tab A goes in slot B. Even maybe slot C if you have enough lube.”

He burst out laughing at that, and she grinned in response.

“Good, I can make you laugh.”

“What if I make _you_ laugh for all the wrong reasons?”

“I have faith,” she said, and inclined her head.  “Come on, then.”

He raised a brow.

“What, you want to go now?”

“Kinda wriggling in my seat here,” she said.  “I’m thinking we strike while the iron’s hot.”

“At least let a man finish his whisky,” he said, and she shrugged.

“Fair enough.”

He grinned at her, and took another sip of his whisky, looking her over very deliberately.  Lacey raised her chin.

“Like what you see, Detective?”

“Oh yes.”  He raised his glass.  “But I’m wondering if your legs are cold.”

“Why don’t you check?”

Weaver set down his glass and turned towards her, leaning forwards to put his hands on her thighs.  Lacey bit her lip, and he slowly stroked his hands upwards, the tips of his fingers just pushing beneath her dress.

“You’re cold,” he said, his voice a low growl, and she felt her breath catch.

“Maybe you can do something about that.”

“Maybe so.”

He leaned in to kiss her, his body pushing between her thighs, his hands sliding higher, and Lacey moaned as his tongue pushed into her mouth, stroking against hers.  He was a good kisser, his lips pulling at hers, his tongue gently probing, and she felt a sudden, heady certainty that it would feel even more amazing between her legs.  No guy had ever managed to do that for her in a way that worked. Perhaps he’d be the first. She let her fingers slip through his hair, finding it soft and just long enough to twist around her fingers.  He groaned a little as her nails scraped his scalp, making her belly tighten with arousal.

“Would you two get a room?”

Roni’s dry voice made them break the kiss, and Weaver turned his head, a grin making his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Are we offending your delicate sensibilities?”

“I just saw two of my customers throw up,” she said, in a flat tone, and he chuckled.

“Well, envy can take some people that way.”

“Just take the girl home, Weaver,” she said.  “And if you promise never to tell me what you get up to, then you get a drink on the house.”

“As though I needed an incentive,” he said dryly, but took a step back and reached into his pocket for some money.  He glanced across at Lacey. “Do you - still want to come?”

“Oh, hell yes!” she said immediately, and he grinned, tossing the money onto the bar and drinking the last of his whisky.

“Then let’s go.”

He took her hand, and she slipped from the stool, letting him pull her with him out of the bar and into the pouring rain.  She shivered, holding her waterlogged coat above her head to keep off the worst of the rain, and Weaver shrugged off his leather jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders.

“It’s not far,” he said.

Lacey was relieved to duck into the apartment building after a minute or so of swift walking through the driving rain.  The leather jacket had kept most of it from her, but Weaver was soaked through, the white shirt sticking to his skin and giving her an intriguing sneak peek of the planes of his chest.  His nipples were hard with the cold, and she bit her lip as she imagined running her tongue over them. Rainwater was dripping from his hair, trickling down his throat and down into the vee of his open shirt, and she wanted to follow the path of the water with her tongue.  He closed the door behind them, nodding to the staircase.

“Third floor,” he said quietly.

She lunged at him, hands on his shoulders as she kissed him, as she pushed him back against the wall, her tongue probing.  She could taste the rainwater on him, and she pulled her mouth from his, running her tongue down his neck and making him growl.  Weaver grasped her shoulders, turning her to shove her against the wall, and Lacey let out a moan as he kissed down her throat, as he sank his teeth into her.  His hands cupped her breasts, pushing beneath the leather jacket to squeeze her, and he groaned into her mouth as she ran a hand down between his legs. He was hard, his cock thick and rigid in his jeans, and she squeezed, making him gasp, making him break the kiss.

“Third floor, huh?” she whispered.  “Take me.”

He grasped her hand again, pushing back and tugging her with him as he mounted the stairs.  Lacey watched his butt move in his jeans as she followed him up, her breathing growing shallower as they climbed.  His apartment was number 310, and she bounced on her toes as he unlocked the door, letting them in. The apartment was a decent size; she spied a kitchen off to the left and the lounge boasted two squashy leather couches.  She shrugged out of the leather jacket, draping it over the arm of the couch, and Weaver stepped into the room behind her.

“Do you want a drink?” he asked, and she turned to him with a grin.

“No,” she said.  “I want to see your bedroom.”

He gave her that twisted smile again, and jerked his head towards the hallway.  Lacey followed him out, and he opened up a door to the left, the room beyond dark until he flicked on a side lamp.  The bed was queen-sized, the frame wrought iron, and she thought of the cuffs at his belt, a thrill going through her as her imagination ran wild.  She turned to face him, and he tugged off his boots one by one, dropping them on the floor with a thump. Lacey rummaged in her purse for some condoms, throwing them onto the bed before tossing the purse onto the dresser.

“You pick up after yourself,” she said, looking around.  “Most guys live like fucking raccoons.”

“If I have to jump out of bed in the middle of the night to answer an urgent call, I don’t want to break my neck falling over my own pants,” he said dryly, and she giggled.

“Guess that’s fair.”

She reached down, grasping the hem of her dress and tugging it up over her head, leaving her in bra and panties.

“You’re eager,” he remarked.

“You got a problem with that?” she asked, tossing the dress aside, and he smirked.

“Oh believe me, I’m thanking my lucky stars.”

“Good.  Take off the shirt.”

His smile grew, and he unbuttoned the white cotton, peeling it off and tossing it aside.  She licked her lips, looking him over as he sauntered close. A silver chain was looped around his neck, sitting just below his collarbone, and he had a smooth, firm chest, the nipples hard and dark, just a little softness to his belly that made her want to sink her teeth into him.  Weaver walked her backwards until she was against the wall, cold against her skin, his arms either side of her, palms flat against the plaster as he leaned in. She felt her breath quicken, and she ran her hands up his chest, thumbs brushing over his nipples and making him twitch.

“Well then, Lacey,” he growled.  “What do you want?”

“Kiss me again,” she said.

He bent his head to her, his tongue pushing into her mouth, and Lacey let out a contented moan, sliding her hands up his back and tugging him close.  He pushed her back against the wall, his tongue stroking against hers, and his hands reached up to her shoulders, tugging the straps of her bra down her arms, the cups pulled down to expose her breasts.  He cupped her with both hands, squeezing, groaning into her mouth, and Lacey pushed into his hands, opening her legs a little to feel the hard length of his cock press against her belly. She let her hands drop to his belt, tugging at it to pull the leather through the buckle, and Weaver kissed down her throat, sinking his teeth into her as she got the belt open.

Lacey let out a cry, head thumping back against the wall, and he reached around to tug at the clasp of her bra, getting it open and pulling it from her.  He kissed down to her breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth and making her yowl in pleasure. One hand squeezed her before sliding down over her belly and pushing beneath the waistband of her thong.  He slipped a finger in between her folds, groaning against her as he released a rush of fluid, and Lacey moaned, pushing against his hand, gasping as he brushed over her clit.

“Yes!” she whispered, and he slipped a finger inside her, pushing deep.

She moaned, head rolling back against the wall, opening her legs wider, and Weaver kissed back up to her neck, biting down before drawing his tongue along her jaw.

“You feel amazing!” he breathed.  “I wanna give you another, Lacey. As much as you can take.”

She nodded rapidly, and he pushed another finger into her, thrusting hard as his thumb circled her clit to send jolts of sensation through her.

 _“Fuck!”_ he rasped.  “God, you’re wet!  So fucking beautiful!  Can’t wait to get inside you!”

Lacey moaned, lifting a leg to wrap around his waist, and he pushed a third finger inside her, stretching her, thrusting deep as he stroked at the hard bud of her clit.  Her cheeks were flushing as he worked her, perspiration forming on her upper lip, and she nipped at his throat before sucking the salt from his skin, her fingers scraping his scalp.  Weaver pushed and thrust, his movements hard, almost painful, and she could feel sensations building as she neared her peak.

“Oh, _fuck_ , yes!” she gasped.  “God that’s - that’s—”

She came with a loud cry, pushing into his hand, bliss washing over her, and he quickened the pace of his fingers as her juices flowed over him.  She clung to his shoulders, her body jerking, her legs unsteady, and he bent to kiss her throat, sucking on her skin with a low growl of pleasure.

“Perfect,” he rasped.  “That was fucking perfect.”

She nodded, still trying to catch her breath, and he pulled his fingers from her, straightening a little to slip them into his mouth with a low groan and suck off the taste of her.  She watched, chest heaving, as his tongue swept along the lengths, sweeping and stroking to catch every drop. His eyes met hers, and he jerked his head towards the bed.

“Get on your knees,” he said.

Lacey promptly sank to the floor, hands reaching for the fly of his jeans, and he groaned as she pulled them open, her head in line with his groin.

“I meant - I meant get on your knees on the bed,” he said, his voice unsteady.

“I know you did,” she said pertly.  “Look how disobedient I am.”

She pushed the denim back, one hand reaching into his underwear to grasp the thick length of his cock, smooth and hard and heavy in her hand.  Weaver’s hands sank into her hair, and she shuffled forwards, smelling the musky scent of him. She ran her tongue along the length, making him let out another groan, and let the tip of her tongue flicker over the head, lapping up the bead of liquid that had formed there and tasting his salt.  He gasped, his fingers tightening in her curls, and Lacey grinned to herself before licking her lips and sliding them down over the head, sucking him hard. He growled, his hips pushing forward instinctively, and she let her tongue wrap around him, her throat closing up as he hit the soft flesh at the back.

“ _Fuck,_ Lacey!” he gasped.

She sucked hard, her cheeks hollowing around him, flicking her eyes up to meet his, and he was staring at her, muscles twitching in his cheeks, his eyes dark and heavy with lust.  She let him slip from her mouth, the shaft wet and glistening, and locked eyes with him as she ran her tongue up and down his length before opening wide to take him deep again. Weaver gritted his teeth, shaking his head.

“You keep that up and this’ll be over very quickly,” he warned, and she pressed a kiss to him before sitting back on her heels with a wicked grin.

“So we take a break and go again,” she suggested, and he grimaced.

“You’re a bad girl.”

“Lucky for you, huh?” she said, and ran a finger over the set of cuffs at his belt.  “You gonna arrest me, detective?”

“I’m gonna return the fucking favour, that’s what.”

He grasped her shoulders, pulling her to her feet, and Lacey squealed as he swept her up in his arms and tossed her onto the bed where she bounced, giggling.  He knelt up between her legs, reaching to his belt for the cuffs, and held them up with a questioning expression.

“You don’t seem the type to want to be helpless,” he remarked, and she shrugged.

“First time for everything.”

“Yeah, maybe not on the first night, though,” he said, and tucked the cuffs back.  “Just grab onto the bed, hands above your head.”

She obeyed, shifting up the bed a little so that she could grip the frame with both hands.  The position pulled her body taut, and she watched him take off his pants and underwear, his cock still glistening from where she had sucked him.  He crawled onto the bed, putting his hands on her knees and pushing her legs apart, and Lacey arched upwards with a gasp as his cool breath wafted over her hot flesh.

“You smell good,” he breathed.

His tongue swept between her folds, making her let out a cry of pleasure, and he pushed her thighs apart to reach more of her, groaning as he licked her.  The chain around his wrist was cold against her thigh, and she pushed her hips higher to meet his mouth, moaning at the soft sweeps of his tongue. He slid his hands beneath her, lifting her closer, burying his face in her with a contented growl, and Lacey gripped the bed frame tightly, her body rising up off the bed, her heart thumping in her chest.  She was still tender from the touch of his hand, and she knew he would make her come, his tongue flickering over her, stabbing and swirling. Her body was chasing her climax, wanting it, craving it, and she pushed up into his mouth, trying to get more friction, a whimper starting at the back of her throat as a tide of sensation began to rise up within her.

The flat of his tongue scraped over her, and she let go with a cry, her body jerking as she came.  Weaver groaned, his tongue sliding inside her, his lips sucking at her, and she fell back against the bed, releasing the bed frame to let her hands drop to stroke through his hair.

“Fuck!” she gasped.

He chuckled, pressing kisses to her, and began moving back up her body, his tongue trailing over her skin.

“Fucking sweet, you are,” he said, his words rumbling over her and making her shiver.  “Are you ready?”

“Give me a second.”

She fished around with one hand, finding one of the condoms and handing it to him, and he knelt up to put tear open the packet and put it on.  Lacey watched, running her eyes over him. A lean body, his chest smooth, the silver chain around his neck and wrist and the thick rings on his hands winking in the light.  Dark hair spread down between his legs where his cock jutted towards her, and she licked her lips in anticipation of having him inside her. Of feeling him come deep within.

He got the condom on, and leaned on his outstretched arms above her, legs shifting in between hers before he took his weight onto one hand and reached down between them with the other.  His fingers slipped into her easily, and he groaned in approval as she pushed upwards onto his hand, lowering his body a little so that his mouth brushed her ear.

“God, you’re so wet with your cum,” he breathed.  “Gotta get inside you, Lacey. Slide my cock inside you and sink deep.”

She moaned, bucking against him, and he slipped out the fingers, fumbling a little before she felt the head of his cock press against her.  He pushed up inside her with a slow, deliberate motion, a low grunt coming from him, and Lacey arched up, drawing up her knees so that he could slide in all the way.  He felt incredible, a rigid length thrusting in and out of her, his hair rubbing against her, covered in her juices, his body grinding against hers. Weaver let out a groan of pleasure, gritting his teeth as he moved, one hand sliding up her body to squeeze her breast, and Lacey raised her head to kiss him, his face sticky and damp and covered in her scent.

Her tongue probed his mouth, and she moaned as his fingers plucked at her nipple, his lips grown slippery against hers.  She wrapped her legs around his back, squeezing him, and he grasped one thigh, pushing it higher, pushing up inside her until it was almost painful.  Lacey let her head roll back against the pillows with a cry, lifting her hips, pumping against him, and he sank his teeth into her neck with a low growl, his tongue sweeping over the bite.

She pushed at his shoulder, shoved with one thigh, rolling him onto his back and straddling him with her hands on his belly, his cock hard and hot inside her.  He was watching her with eyes darkened by desire, his chest heaving with every breath, and he slid his hands up her thighs, gripping her rear and tugging her close against him as she began to rock.  The friction was incredible, and she could feel her muscles growing tighter, her skin tingling with the promise of another climax. She quickened her pace, letting him slide out almost all the way before sinking back onto him, and he was gazing at her intently.

“ _That’s_ it!” he rasped.  “Fuck me, Lacey! Fuck me hard!”

She rocked against him, perspiration making her cheeks glow and her lips salty, her hands sliding up his chest to pinch at his nipples.  He groaned, pushing up into her, and she could feel him grow harder, grow ready to come. She bucked against him with short, shallow thrusts of her hips, and his eyes flew wide, his head rising up off the pillows as he came with a long, low groan of release.  He pulsed deep within her, and she ground against him, the feel of it taking her with him, a cry of pleasure bursting from her as she clenched around him, squeezing him, pulling every drop from him.

She slowed to a stop, bracing herself with her palms against his lower belly, her head hanging down as she tried to steady her breathing.  He was very warm beneath her, his hands resting heavily on her hips, and for a moment she listened to the sound of his ragged breath, and felt him begin to shrink inside her.

“Fuck!” he whispered, and Lacey giggled.

“Yep.”

He ran his hands over his face, breathing hard through his fingers, and she pushed herself up straight.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice a little muffled.  “Just scrape my brains off the walls and give ‘em back, would you?”

Lacey snickered.

“Hey, I was the one with the multiple orgasms, here.”

“Fucking good job,” he muttered.  “More than one of those bastards would have killed me.”

She laughed harder, and he let his hands drop, reaching between them to grasp the base of the condom as she eased up off his body and rolled to the side.

“Back in a second,” he said, pushing up.  “You want a drink?”

“Sounds good.”

She watched him walk out in the direction of the bathroom, his buttocks twitching pleasantly as he moved, and she slipped beneath the covers, tugging them up over herself as she listened to the sound of running water from the other room.  He returned after a few minutes with two whisky glasses, each with a small measure, and she took them from him as he got into the bed. Lacey held up his glass as he sat back, putting an arm around her, and he took it.

“That was fucking awesome,” she said, and clinked her glass against his.

“Best way I’ve ever spent a Thursday night, I think,” he remarked.

“God, same!" she said lazily.

"No bad Chinese food, then?" he said, with a grin, and she glanced up at him with a smirk.

"You're a fucking gourmet banquet, Detective."

"Yeah, well, you taste pretty delicious, yourself."

“Just hope I can handle another course.”

“Well, my appetite’s definitely there,” he said.  “Let’s see if we can handle dessert, shall we?”

Lacey chortled, and took a slurp of her drink, nestling by his side, but she needed the bathroom, and so she set her glass aside and got to her feet, pulling on his discarded - and still damp - white shirt and padding from the room.  When she returned he was sitting with his glass in his hand and an arm behind his head, watching her.

“You want to stay tonight?” he asked, but she shook her head.

“Nah, I have a thing tomorrow,” she said.  “I have to get up early and if I stay I’ll just spend all night having sex with you.  Need my beauty sleep.”

"Fine," he sighed.  “Are you at least gonna give me your number?”

She grinned, scrabbling in her purse for a lipstick, and wrote her number on his bedroom mirror in loops and lines of red.

“If you ever happen to pass through Maine, you know who to call,” she said.  “I’ll take you out, show you a good time.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he said.  “Will I see you again while you’re in town?”

Lacey pulled a face.

“Doubt it,” she said.  “Like I said, I kind of have a thing tomorrow and Saturday, and then I’m going back to Maine the day after.”

“Pity,” he said regretfully.  “Although I couldn’t do tomorrow or Saturday either.  Prior engagement.”

“Another hot young piece of ass that you’re gonna ruin for all other men?” she said teasingly, and he chuckled.

“Best friend’s getting married,” he said.  “I have to take him out for a drink tomorrow, keep an eye on him so he doesn’t get too drunk or get himself punched in the face, and then get him to the venue Saturday.”

“Huh,” she said, slipping the lipstick back into her bag.  “Got a wedding to attend myself.”

“Yeah?  Where’s yours?”

“Hyperion Hotel,” she said dismissively, and there was a moment of silence behind her.

“That’s where mine is.”

Lacey turned slowly to face him, and was surprised to see a stricken expression on his face.

“Who’s getting married?” she asked warily, and he ran an awkward hand through his hair.

“Uh - actually my best friend Nicholas Rush is marrying—”

“—Belle French,” she finished.  “My cousin.”

Weaver blinked at her, and let out what sounded like a very weary sigh.

“Thought you looked familiar,” he said, in a defeated tone.  “Well, well. Small world.”


End file.
